


A godlike wreath of its own wrath

by psychomachia



Category: Omar Rayyan - Works
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Gen, Merpeople, Octopi & Squid, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: There are many tales told Below, but only one that matters.





	A godlike wreath of its own wrath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/gifts).



There is always one story that every child in our land knows, and I am no exception. My mother told it to me and her mother told it to her and so forth, for our history must always be preserved. Paper crumbles, wood rots, but the tales will live on.

And so I tell it to you, child, because you are of an age when you should know how the world came to be.

Once in the time when there were two kingdoms instead of one, the ruler of Below announced to his advisers that he would go to the surface to seek a bride.

Initially, the council was quite horrified. To seek a bride from the world Above? Such a pairing had been done in the past and it was still a frequent, albeit hidden practice among the common folk, but nobility? It had been many years since the alliance between the two kingdoms had ended. Were they not fighting an unspoken war against those very people? Nets cast into the sea to lure unwary folk to unspeakable ends. Poisons that mixed with the frothing waters causing illness and death.

In response, they would sink boats, causing the Above folk to fall to the depths of the sea, where the craftsman polished their fine bones to create gleaming, sharp tools to use against them. Though they were unable to bring down those who did not venture from their homes to travel across the canals, it was known by all those who had seen Below that appropriate sacrifices had to be made for safe passage.

But those wise souls were few and far between, and scarcer still were those who still remembered when the marriage of Above and Below was a thing to be rejoiced, not something to be kept secret and shameful.

“I have received an invitation,” Adrian said, producing a clever device of shells and gold, with hinges that opened carefully to reveal an engraved ivory tablet. “They wish to make peace, to renew our alliance once again.”

Tentacles wavered at that. Heads bent together in discussion, before the council agreed to consider his proposal.

The Arm of Auguries consulted the whale bones, as was the tradition then, and determined with much solemnity and bowing that portents indicated a favorable reception to any advances.

Not to be outdone, the Arm of Currents proclaimed that the waters were in favor as well, for they would push him to the surface without any friction or hesitation.

And so it was that all Arms came to be in perfect agreement that the time was right for Adrian to unite the two kingdoms. That they had all been vehemently opposed a few cycles before, was discreetly forgotten.

But there was one that still voiced her displeasure at the idea. His sister, Nerissa refused to wish him well.

“You must know it is a trap,” she said quietly, her agitation clear in the waves of her hair. “They wish to destroy us.”

Adrian sighed. “It may well be. But I have no choice.”

“You could remain Below.” Beside her, Cero gambolled playfully, trying to cheer up his mistress.

He reached down to pat Cero gently. “You have seen how things have progressed. We cannot remain this way. If it is to be peace, then I must make every sincere attempt upon my end to make it work.”

“And if it is not?”

“Then I trust you know what must be done.”

Nerissa shook her head sadly. “I will wish you good fortune,” she murmured. “But I will not expect it.”

And so Adrian left the world Below, gifts of large perfect pearls and shimmering abalone in his hand, to venture Above. There were songs of farewell, that lasted for five days and five nights, and poems written to commemorate his fateful journey. All were hopeful and anxious to see the fine bride he would bring back. Surely, it would not be long before they would be able to rejoice, and to seat the new couple on the throne.

He did not return the first week.

He did not return the first month.

There was no word from him at all, as a matter of fact, and soon the council became divided.

Some believed that he had found his bride, but that he had chosen to remain Above, lured no doubt by promises and cheap tokens to betray his kingdom. They made veiled hints to Nerissa that perhaps, she should make the obeisances to the Lady and take the crown in his stead.

Others knew him to be dead, for their king would never betray them, and cried for blood, for war, for killing all those Above. And they too, told Nerissa, that she should sit upon the ivory throne and make the declaration that none were to be spared.

“Wait,” she said, and no more. And none were left satisfied.

It was a year to the day when he left that a messenger, cloaked and burbling, came to her in the depths of the trenches. Nerissa listened closely, nodded, and paid for the information in silver.

She bent down to pet the whining Cero. “My brother will return.”

But first, she had one visit to make. One that she had known she would always have to make, but feared the ending that it would bring.

* * *

 

It was not uncommon to see shrouded figures step from the boats, especially upon an evening such as this. The night of the Masquerade attracted those from all over the kingdom to the capitol, and tonight, promised to be an exceptional one.

For it was known that the glittering centerpiece of tonight's affair was something special from Below, a treasure beyond compare. No one could resist a trophy to commemorate a tremendous victory, for all Above knew that their supremacy was near complete.

After all, they had the king of Below, bound in chains in a gold and glass tank, displayed so that all could look upon him. Throughout the months prior, only a select few had seen him, locked deep in the palace far from the common eye. These elite nobles would tap on the tank, watching him lash out and cry out in mock fear, hiding behind their masks and laughing as he met cold glass again and again.

But soon the novelty wore off and they grew bored. So the Masquerade was to be his last showing, a grand finale for all before they disposed of him and sought new entertainment. He was to be seen in the largest ballroom the palace had to offer, an ornate marble affair with windows that looked out upon the ocean, still and serene that evening.

Thus was the message and opportunity passed to Nerissa, who seized upon both.

“Madame?” the boatman asked. “Are you all right?” He may have feared he was speaking to a ghost, for those Above knew that the Masquerade attracted spirits as well. Doors were hung with Shepherd's Club and Church Steeples, to force spectral visitors to vanish into the fog before they could cross the threshold.

In response, the figure reached out a black gloved hand and deposited a slightly tarnished coin in his palm.

“Thank you,” he said and the figure bowed to whisper into his ear.

No one knows what he heard, but the last anyone saw of the boatman, he was rowing away from the city as fast as he possibly could.

The figure stood upon the misty docks. She could hear raucous yelling in the distance, joyful music, even church bells chiming out the hour. The sound of life Above was an overwhelming cacophony, a harsh contrast to Below, where things flowed into each other in a perfect rhythm.

Her voice, if she raised it, would be barely be heard.

But there were those that heard her song.

It was the clicks of whales swimming in the sea, the cracking of the ice above, the manatees chirping as they called to each other. It was vents bursting from the ocean floor, lava rumbling and then subsiding, seals trilling and hooting.

It was the heartbeat of the ocean, a steady drumming that called all home who could hear it.

So they responded, those who knew the ways of Below. The children born of the joinings, who could hear it like a bell ringing in their ear. They took those whom they loved, taking by them by the hand and dragging them to boats already prepared, for the song was nothing but a confirmation of the dreams they had been sent for the past year.

There were some, too, not of Below, but who had spent their lives working and living there, that head the call, faint and distant, but still compelling. And they knew and cried for what was to come, but bowed their heads and pushed their ships out to sea.

And those Below, who heard it even in the darkest depths where no light reaches, sent back their own song, adding to the harmony. They sang thank you, we miss you, we will love you

They sang goodbye.

And when the song was over and the clock was striking eleven chimes, Nerissa's song ceased.

She took a deep breath and let herself mourn for all that was lost before and what they would still lose.

Then she began her second song.

* * *

There is a portrait that hangs of your many times great-aunt in the halls of our palace. You remind me of her, of course, in the way that she looks you straight in the eye without hesitation. And of course, you favor her greatly physically, especially in the exquisite beauty of your suckers.

But most of all, you never show what you feel and I have often wondered if she was much the same.

Did she feel anything when she watched the waters crash into the palace, breaking the windows, the doors, the tank where Adrian lay, half-dead and bleeding? Did she laugh as they screamed for help, those who had been mocking and dancing only a short time before? Did she smile when she saw her brother swim back to his people, as the last of the palace behind him became enveloped by the waters?

Did she cry when her song ended and all that was left was the beautiful blue of the ocean, stretching as far as the eye could see?


End file.
